Good Korma
by ParsleyFeline
Summary: In which Dave sexes up a curry.
1. Chapter 1

There is a good reason that I wrote this, I swear there is and it involves a ridiculous conversation that resulted in this picture - http:/media[dot]tumblr[dot]com/tumblr_lot1aheuqu1qceq6c[dot]png and the I was compelled to write this stupidity and please don't judge me too hard.

I don't know what's worse, that I wrote it in the first place or that this is the closest to porn that I have ever written.

Enjoy I guess

(oh god)

* * *

><p>It was rapidly becoming unbearable.<p>

For days it had completely consumed his every waking thought, cropping up during the most unrelated and inconvenient moments of his everyday life. It would spring to mind during rap-offs, in the shower, walking to the fucking grocery store. The most innocuous things would remind him of it and he'd have to stop and sit down to recover. The worst of it was when he suddenly thought about it in the middle of strifing, because that just resulted in getting his ass kicked. Dave had an image to maintain.

He could stand it for a time. He could go about his business without a flicker in his coolkid facade, laying down sweet beats and administering sick burns except then he thought about the burning in his chest, in his loins, on his tongue. The worst of it, however, came about when Bro found out.

He didn't know when.

He didn't know how.

All he knew was that upon entering the Strider household, a foreign yet familiar scent immediately hit his nostrils. He stopped dead in the doorway, waiting for some sign of life or for his Bro to beat the shit out of him as usual. He was perplexed, therefore, when nothing happened, and the house was still, silent as the grave. He was kind of ashamed at his slow creep into the living room, but the presence of that wonderful fragrance had put him on edge. The Strider house only ever smelt of sweat and mangrit with a tiny undercurrent of paralysing shame and that beautiful smell certainly didn't belong here.

Surely…

Surely not.

It couldn't be.

Dave prayed that it was.

Anticipating a surprise attack at any moment, he darted from the living room and into the kitchen where the smell was the strongest, and flattened himself against the doorway. The scent hit him full force and he wobbled on his feet, dizzy with the intoxication. Slowly, almost against his will, his head turned to the kitchen counter and the origin of his torment. His knees nearly buckled at the sight. It took all his considerable powers of restraint to calmly stride (of course) over to the countertop, stare fixed upon the curry atop it.

Oh jegus it was a korma too.

Glancing furtively over his shoulder, Dave lifted the plate, careful not to spill anything and hurried back to his room. He thought vaguely that there were several reasons that this definitely didn't belong in his house, not least of which was the fact that no food had ever been consumed in the Strider house that hadn't first been extremely intimate with a microwave. The likelihood of Dave ever eating cooked food was about on a par with meeting aliens.

Oh wait.

Dave slipped into his bedroom and promptly closed and locked the door behind him. It wasn't likely to be very effective, but for now he needed the illusion of privacy.

The korma was set reverently on Dave's bed and he kneeled down to properly appreciate it.

"You're so ironic I can't stand it," he whispered.

Tentatively, he reached out a finger and dipped it into the bright orange sauce atop the rice and brought it to his mouth, moaning as the spices hit his tongue. He shifted uncomfortably as his pants tightened and a blush rose high on his cheeks. Shit, he was blushing like some kind of… some kind of Egbertian schoolgirl. It was always like this.

Hurriedly he pulled his shirt off, knocking his shades askew before discarding them all together. Gog, he was a flustered mess, but he didn't have much time before Bro inevitably decided to ruin this for him. Abandoning his hesitation, his hand reached out, seemingly of its own volition and submerged itself in the mess of sauce and rice, groaning, and painfully hard. He licked and sucked at his fingers as his other hand fumbled with the button of his jeans. He was ready to cry with the frustration when finally (finally!) he managed to shove them off far enough to reach down and palm himself through his boxers.

"Oh jegus, take me now," he moaned, for once not caring how unironic he sounded. Clambering up onto his bed, he clutched at the plate for all he was worth, spilling the contents onto his chest, head flung back in ecstasy. His eyes rolled back into his head as it dripped down his ribs, a low guttural moan vibrating in his throat. His messy hand slid down to the band of his boxers, teasing and hesitant, before plunging under the thin material. With the curry slicking up his hand, he resisted the urge to just grab his cock and get off, forcing himself to take it slowly. This was a rare occasion, and he was determined to savour every moment. His hand slid easily over his skin, and Dave moaned in relief, nearing desperation in his need to be touched. He clenched his free hand in the curry before bringing it to his mouth, licking and swallowing. Gog, there was _chicken _in it. His hand began to speed up reflexively, heat building in his belly. There was curry everywhere, on his chest, his face, his hair, and he keened, arching up off the bed into his own hand. God, he'd learn to cook if it meant he could just do this all the time, whenever he wanted, his whole house would just smell of curry and he'd ascend to a new level of irony if only he could control himself around the stuff, and his life would just be all curry all the time and at that thought he bucked, once, twice, into his hand and came hard, korma burning on his lips and tongue and fuck, his whole body was on fire and he never wanted it to end.

When he finally came down, he was left gasping and satisfied on his ruined sheets, hands and chest covered in curry and come. Slowly his eyes flickered open, registering the world around him and eventually finding focus on his ceiling.

He froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Written in bold red:

"THANKS FOR THE SHOW LITTLE BRO"

In smaller letters underneath:

"ask nicely and ill give you a cut"

Fuck.

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><p>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow I got persuaded to write a second chapter of this awful story

There's even an accompanying gif that's a shameless modification of that one from that Soccer Mom!Karkat AU- http:/media[dot]tumblr[dot]com/tumblr_lpimdkOggC1qcyaz6[dot]gif

god dammit

* * *

><p>In hindsight, clicking on links sent to him by Dave's Bro was probably inadvisable in and of itself. John sat, staring blankly at his computer screen, flushed with a strange mixture of confusion and arousal. Whatever he'd been expecting when he clicked on that link, it hadn't been this. Puppets, maybe. Definitely not this. Dave looked oddly beautiful like this, sprawled out on his bed, hair a mess and curry smeared across his pale skin. His eyes wandered to Dave's crotch of his own volition and he blushed bright red, squirming a little in his chair. Honestly, it was kind of compelling, seeing someone like Dave so out of control over something like a good korma.<p>

John hand hovered nervously over his mouse, the icon tantalisingly close to the replay button. Guilt gnawed at his stomach, but surely once more couldn't hurt? Who would even know?

(Except maybe Bro.)

The video started up again, and John's hand crept towards the button of his pants. He was pretty sure that this was very gay, but he wasn't much up for caring at this point. He shuddered as he watched Dave scramble onto his bed, and slipped his hand into his completely unironic slime ghost boxers. The video was woefully short, but it was enough, and John clapped his hand over his mouth as he spilled over his fist, stifling a moan.

He stayed like for a few minutes, breathing through his nose heavily and slouched on his chair. It took a minute for the euphoria to subside, but when it did, guilt came back to punch him in the stomach and he hurriedly closed down the window and cleaned his hand off, resolving to stop thinking about it. Seriously, what would Dave do if he knew?

…

What _would_ Dave do if he knew?

The question plagued John for days, and he couldn't get Dave's expression out of his head. Purchase of a web cam last year meant that he talked to Dave face to face more often than not these days, and he'd never seen the coolkid blush like that before. Dave was never flustered; that was what made him cool after all, but John couldn't stop thinking about the flush that had spread down his neck, right to his shoulders. He'd left his shades on, but John couldn't help but wonder if he could be persuaded to take them off, with the right leverage of course.

Slowly, John began to form a plan.

It was a very simple plan, one that mostly involved curry powder and persuading his dad to a) let him cook and b) let him eat up in his room. Alone. Very alone. No Dad, I'm not sick. No, I'll be okay without cake to wash it down.

It took some wrangling, but eventually John was leaping up the staircase, a plate of chicken korma protectively cradled against his chest. He'd set up a time to talk with Dave, explaining that he'd be short on time and did he mind if he ate dinner while they talked?

Fortunately, Dave was endlessly chill about pretty much anything, and the stage was set for Plan Seduce Dave Strider With Cunning Use Of Chicken Korma. The title needed work.

"'Sup bro," came Dave's voice over his shitty microphone.

"Hi Dave!" John answered cheerily, determined to keep his voice steady. It seemed to be working, for the most part.

"What are you up to?" John asked, deciding to skip the preamble and just go ahead and start eating. Dave had already started talking but the fork caught his eye and he trailed off in manner that would have been comical if John's heart hadn't been beating so fast. He kept a carefully blank face and looked at Dave expectantly, waiting for him to finish his sentence. Dave cleared his throat (not nervously, Dave Strider was never nervous).

"What are you eating?" He asked, and John was certain that he hadn't imagined the quaver in his voice.

"Hm? Oh! Curry. It's really good!"

This was true.

"I thought your old man was all about cake."

"Yeah, but he let me cook today and I've just had this weird craving for curry lately."

This was also true.

"I don't really know why."

This was not.

Dave shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. Unfortunately, Dave's web cam was as shitty as his microphone, so John couldn't really make out his expression under his shades, a fact that had never really bothered him until now.

"Curry huh?" Okay, for Dave, that was a really terrible attempt at seeming nonchalant, "what kind?"

"Korma, I think."

Dave made an odd noise in the back of his throat that did funny things to John's stomach, and he could just make out the quiet "fuck" Dave muttered under his breath. Suppressing a smile, he went in for the kill.

"So Dave," he began casually, "I saw this video the other day, I think you'd be pretty interested to see it."

"Y-Yeah?" He was definitely fidgeting now. Dave Strider never fidgeted; it was neither ironic nor cool.

"Yeah," John continued, slowly stirring his fork in the curry sauce, "there was this guy in it," here he speared a piece of chicken and brought it to his lips, "he looked a lot like you."

The languorous sensuality with which he put that piece of chicken in his mouth felt utterly ridiculous, but it brought about the desired effect. Dave's head dropped into his hands with a groan.

"Okay, stop, _stop._"

His breath was coming hard now, over the mic, and John's heart was hammering in his chest.

"Too much?" He asked teasingly, and only got another groan and nod of Dave's blonde head in response. Suddenly struck with inspiration, John coated a finger in curry sauce.

"Hey Dave," he said throatily, and whoa, where had that come from. Dave reluctantly brought his head up to look at his screen, at which John slipped his finger into his mouth and slowly sucked. The result was a strangled noise at the back of Dave's throat and his hands clenching on his desk. John grinned.

Dave, on the other hand, was not so pleased. Well he was pleased, because fuck, _curry_. But he'd have preferred that his best bro not find out. He was never gonna live this down.

"Dammit John, how the fuck did you even find out?"

"Bro sent me this link."

Dave sighed.

"Of course he did."

"Dave?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Take off the shades?"

Dave hesitated for a long moment, considering whether or not he wanted his best friend to see him turn into a complete mess, until John decided that he'd waited quite long enough and gave his curry-smeared fork a long, languid lick that should have been criminal. Dave whined in the back of his throat and reluctantly removed the shades, looking anywhere except the web cam, only John was doing something else with his fingers now and that needed all his attention. He only realised that he was openly staring when John leaned forward to stare back, examining his face. There was a smudge of curry sauce at the corner of his mouth and Dave licked his lips subconsciously, dying to lick it his off his face just to get a taste. John swallowed hard, and leaned back, moving his keyboard aside to make room for his plate.

"Okay," he said unsteadily, "now the shirt."

Shit, was he serious?

"Fine," Dave answered, "but you have to take yours off too."

John nodded, and he breathed out slowly, glad to finally have some control over the situation. He yanked his t-shirt over his head, a little too hurriedly for his own liking, but that korma was just sitting there and something had to be done and soon.

John's breath shuddered out as he pulled his own shirt off, his temperature seeming to leap up a few degrees even though he was losing his clothes. Dave, seemingly unsatisfied with just that, was already pulling at his jeans and John could just make out the jut of his erection through his boxers, spurring him to follow suit.

Remembering the reason for all this, John pushed his hand into the korma, taking the time to make sure that Dave's red eyes were on him before slowly sucking his fingers clean. Dave outright moaned, his hand sliding into his underwear to stroke himself, and for some reason it was the sexiest thing John had ever heard and, god he was so hard it was unbearable. He slouched in his chair and brought another handful of rice and sauce to his mouth, pausing to make sure Dave was watching.

"Fuck, John, come _on_."

John whimpered quietly and there was something about the sensation of curry on his fingers that made him slide his hand down his chest instead, smearing sauce everywhere.

"_Fuck_,"Dave choked out and sped up, desperation laced into every muscle. John took a moment appreciate the sight presented to him, Dave strung tighter than a bow, eyes fixed on every move he made. Somehow, Dave managed to tear his eyes from the sight of John's chest, painted with korma, presented to him like it he was supposed to lick it off, and look him in the eyes. John's orgasm hit him by surprise and he doubled up in his chair, muffling his cries with his curry stained hand.

Dave, already wound up to the point of bursting, came hard, shuddering violently, and it was almost enough for John to want to start again. Instead, they both sat for a few minutes in silence but for the sound of their breathing.

"Holy fuck," Dave breathed. John huffed out a laugh.

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>welp<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

I honestly don't even have an excuse for this one. No one had to spend like an hour persuading me to write this, so I'm just going to brand myself with "WORST PERSON EVER" in big red letters and go into exile or something.

(Also, despite my constant state of feeling like a terrible person, I am really grateful to everyone who's read and reviewed this. I collect your reviews like stamps, so that I can just go back and look at them.)

Also also, here is the obligatory picture, once again courtesy of splitbricks and also Kate Beaton:

http:/media[dot]tumblr[dot]com/tumblr_lpxb2gFmE71qcyaz6[dot]png

Why do I do this to myself.

* * *

><p>John bounced excitedly as waited for his luggage to come tumbling into the baggage carousel. His skin was prickling with anticipation and he almost leapt at the blue suitcase the minute it appeared from that mysterious, interdimensional hole keeping his things hostage.<p>

This was so exciting. This was _so_ exciting and John was almost beside himself with excitement. Other than the fact that he'd never been to Texas before, he was thrilled at the chance to actually get to see his actual best bro in the actual flesh. Butterflies erupted in his stomach as he approached the arrival bay and his heart thudded in his chest as he searched the crowd for familiar blonde hair.

He heard someone call his name, and he swivelled round to see Dave Strider, face to face. His hands were in his pockets and he kept his face carefully blank, but John knew full well that Dave was just as thrilled to see him as he was to see Dave. A huge grin threatened to split John's face in half, and he rocketed forward to, in Dave's words, hug the shit out of him. There was an awkward pause as Dave tried to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to do about this before he hesitantly raised his hands to rest them on John's shoulders, hugging him back.

"Easy Egbert, I know I'm an irresistible piece of manflesh and all but please, contain your raging homolust."

John just grinned even wider ("Jegus Egbert, do you want to lose the top of your head or what.") and gave him one last squeeze before stepping back to get a proper look at him, one hand resting on Dave's shoulder. He looked better when he wasn't on his shitty web cam, less pasty.

"Whoa, dude, you have freckles!" John exclaimed, and Dave jerked away, readjusting his shades to cover his blush.

"Top notch observation skills there, bro. Anyone would think you had eyes or some shit."

"Jeez Dave, you don't have to be embarrassed about it or anything. They're cute."

Dave cast him a disparaging look over the top of his shades before declaring the conversation over and taking John's case for him. John followed him with minimal complaints about how Dave thought he was too much of a derp to carry his own suitcase.

Dave's apartment was... interesting. There were all the smuppets, which John had kind of anticipated, but the sheer volume that dropped onto Dave's head as he opened the front door was surprising to say the least. Bro was out of town for a week (Dave refused to say what for) so they had the whole place to themselves.

John was equal parts thrilled and nervous.

Dave set his suitcase down in the living room and proceeded to give John the grand tour of his apartment, which involved opening all the doors and saying 'ta-daa' in the most deadpan voice he could manage. John sniggered and moved to flop onto the sofa, but was caught at the last minute by Dave, who had been halfway across the room just a second ago. John's eyes widened, half-sprawled in the coolkid's arms.

"Cool!"

"No Egbert. Not cool. Not even chilly. This is so not cool that you've gone and jumped into a metaphorical volcano named Mount Bro's Bed. You do not want to scrape the surface of the horrors that this futon has seen. Okay?"

John nodded.

"Okay."

John was suddenly and acutely aware of the pressure of Dave's hands on his back and stared up at Dave's face for a beat longer than was strictly necessary. Dave looked down at him and the situation was rapidly approaching what might have been 'a moment' until Dave decided that this way too uncomfortable for him to be dealing with and absconded.

Or tried to anyway.

John's hand was on his wrist, and Dave was mildly surprised at how strong he was. John licked his lips nervously and tightened his grip.

"Dave?"

"Yeah?" Crap, was his voice cracking?

"I'm kind of hungry, do you want to eat something?"

The question seemed to come out of nowhere and Dave turned to face him, puzzled. He searched John's face for some clue as to what he was getting at, but somehow John's usual transparency had clouded over.

"Sure, but we'll have to order out. Nothing in the fridge but shitty swords."

John positively beamed and Dave could have sworn his eyes were sparkling.

"Great!"

Dave's stomach dropped and his heart soared as it suddenly clicked and he finally realised what John was insinuating.

"I've been dying for a curry."

Malevolent little bastard.

* * *

><p>Dave gasped as John's tongue ran up his chest, chasing a line of curry sauce up to his throat. This was unfair. This was so unfair but it felt amazing and he couldn't even think straight for long enough to even try and object. He'd already been half hard before the delivery guy had arrived at which point John had paid the guy and immediately dragged him into the bedroom and he'd been on the bed, covered in curry and panting for breath before he could blink. The smug look on John's face made him want to punch him, but then he'd bitten him on the neck and Dave couldn't really find the energy to be mad at the little derp.<p>

John jumped slightly at the feeling of Dave's hands on his waist, tugging lightly at the fabric of his t-shirt. He very obligingly sat up to pull it off before leaning back down to kiss Dave full on the mouth. Dave made a small, surprised noise in the back of his throat. They hadn't kissed before now. Their last encounter had been over the safety of the internet, and Dave wasn't sure he was okay with this until John's tongue slipped into his mouth and suddenly he was all kinds of okay. It wasn't the best kiss in the world; it was too sloppy and John's buckteeth were hindering things. But Dave could taste the korma on his tongue and thrust further inside, shyness and nerves forgotten. He was so hard it was almost painful, and he ground his hips against the other boy, coaxing out a small whine. Dave groaned and pressed himself against John's wiry frame, relishing the feel of the curry against his skin and raking his nails down his back, enjoying the shudder that came with it.

Something occurred to him, and he rolled them over, breaking the kiss to work his way down John's chest, licking and nipping at his now curry-smothered skin. John shivered delightfully and buried his fingers in Dave's hair, thinking absently about how soft it felt before getting distracted by the feeling of a tongue tracing his hipbone. God, he wished they'd been able to do this sooner. He'd been thinking about it for months after that first time, and Dave had been so skittish about the whole thing that they had ended up pretending it never happened.

Dave's hand slid up his thigh to press gently against John's clothed erection, startling a loud moan out of him. Dave smirked and glanced up at John's face, flushed with arousal. John pushed himself onto his elbows and reached over to the curry that was still sitting, steaming on the bed. Dave watched in rapt fascination as John covered his fingers and brought them to his mouth, slowly licking one clean, and then offering him the rest. Dave groaned as he slid his tongue over John's long fingers, carefully watching the way his breath hitched in his throat.

John slid forward on the bed, eyes fixed on Dave's lips around his fingers, reaching for the curry again to paint a wide streak from his throat, all the way down to the belt of his pants. Dave hissed out a breath, John's fingers slipping from his mouth only to be replaced by John's tongue, licking and sucking at the curry on his lips. Dave moaned and fumbled with the button of John's shorts, trying and failing to get them off even as he rutted against him.

John eventually took pity on him, batting his hands away to pull them off himself while Dave worked on his own. The second they were off, John flung himself at the other boy, toppling them onto the sheets as he ground their hips together, kissing like it was going out of style. Dave worked his hand between them to push their boxers down, moaning when the thin barrier between their cocks was finally gone and _oh_, god this was too much, the skin on skin contact and the slide made easier by the korma set his nerve endings on fire and he was burning up from the inside and there was curry everywhere and he could feel John shuddering above him and _fuck_ he was coming harder than he'd ever done in his life, more than he'd ever thought was possible.

They spent about ten minutes coming down, Dave's arms wrapped loosely around John's waist, and John's head pillowed on Dave's shoulder. Eventually, their breathing evened out and John finally summoned up enough energy to speak.

"I don't care what you say," he panted, "we're doing that again."

Dave nodded once, too exhausted and satisfied to argue.

"Yeah, okay," he breathed, eyes slipping closed, "I am okay with that."

* * *

><p>Also, Santigabanti, I laughed because something <em>extremely similar<em> happened to me straight after I finished writing chapter 2 and then I spent the whole evening trying not to die laughing.

It was chicken korma and everything.


	4. Chapter 4

For fuck's sake

okay I wasn't going to write any more of this, I _swear_ I wasn't but it's Perdue's birthday and she wanted John and Dave and then THIS happened

GOD

I should just hand in my writer's badge, I'm a failure

* * *

><p>You are Dave Strider and this is simultaneously the best and worst day of your life.<p>

It is the best because it is your birthday and you are finally within close proximity to your three best friends, who you unironically love to pieces, though you would never admit it.

It is the worst because it is your birthday and you are finally within close proximity to your three best friends, all of whom unanimously and inexplicably decided that the best thing to do to celebrate was to take you to a nearby curry house.

You are almost certain that this is all John Egbert's fault.

You become more certain of this when you all sit down to order and he practically demands a chicken korma, without even an iota of shame or hesitation.

You are not blushing.

Rose is giving you funny looks over her menu. Jade doesn't seem to have noticed anything amiss and is happily chattering away, apparently determined to try everything the restaurant can throw at her. John is clearly the embodiment of all evil at this point, but is cunningly disguised by messy hair and dorky teeth.

He is not cute. Not at all.

You search the menu desperately for something that doesn't even resemble curry and sigh inwardly when you realize that all that is available to you are French fries. You'll survive you guess.

Rose makes a snide comment about the irony of eating French fries at a curry house, but John cuts in before you can properly get into your stride and assures her that you can share some of his. Your poker face becomes particularly murderous.

Your jaw clenches when John's korma is brought out, and you're aware that Jade and Rose are eating too but your focus is fixed on John and his determination to torture you. He's a messy eater, always has been, and you pick at your fries while suppressing the awful urge to just leap on him and lick the sauce straight off his face.

You're unnaturally quiet and Jade is looking at you worriedly. You're desperately fishing around for something to say, but the smell of korma is everywhere, fogging up your senses. You're pretty sure that stringing together a coherent sentence is completely impossible.

John licks his fork, slowly.

You are going to punch him so hard.

Amazingly, it is Rose who saves your scrawny ass.

"Are you quite alright Dave?"

You manage a tiny nod. Jade pipes up.

"Yeah, you look kind of sick. Are you feeling okay?"

You could kiss them both full on the mouth. Screw John, he's caused you nothing but spicy delicious torment over the past five years. Rose and Jade are where it's at. You would marry both those girls (even the one that is technically your sister) buy a house and raise two point four beautiful children with both of them and paint your white picket fence with the words "No John Egberts Allowed" in bright red lettering and korma would happen on _your_ terms and-

"Yeah, dude, you look really pale! Come on, I'll take you home, we can celebrate some other time."

Your feeble attempts at protesting are immediately squashed as John strong-arms you out of your seat and towards his car. You're suddenly very glad for the illusion of sickness – hunching over lets you hide the extremely awkward boner that's been developing under the table since John said the words "chicken korma".

You mumble vague apologies to Rose and Jade who make worried noises before you're ushered into the passenger seat.

"Fuck you, John," you rasp the minute the car door closes. John just grins toothily.

You're on him before the apartment door is really closed, something that would ordinarily worry you but you can't really concentrate on anything other than kissing John Egbert. He tastes warm and spicy and his tongue moves languidly against yours and _fuck_. You shove him against the wall to kiss him deeper, grinding your hips together. He's gratifyingly hard against you and you can't seem to pull him close enough, there's too much in the way.

Stumbling, you both somehow navigate your way into the bedroom, dropping onto the bed. John writhes on top of you, coaxing a moan from deep in your throat. His clothes are annoying and you're trying desperately to get them off him, but he's bizarrely reluctant to help. He pulls away and you make an embarrassingly distressed noise. You're shades aren't much good in these situations; your poker face is pretty much shot to pieces.

John looks down at you, lips red and pupils blown and _god_ but you want to fuck him. You buck your hips beneath him and he grinds down, a low groan working its way through his teeth. You smirk, pleased by the reaction, until he wipes it off your face by pulling off your shades.

Sometimes you wish he would lay off the damn things.

It must have shown in your face, because he throws them onto the nightstand, leaning down to attach his lips to your throat. You can feel his long fingers working at the buttons of your shirt, and your own fly to the button of his slacks.

Everything seems to speed up then, becoming more frantic and you _need_ him to be naked, it's not okay for him to be wearing clothes right now that shit isn't cool bro. You throw his pants with such force that you knock something off the dresser. John might have made some noise of complaint, but you're too busy swallowing all his sounds to give a shit. You slide your thigh in between his legs and the wail he makes goes straight to your cock. You've been kissing for so long that he barely even tastes like the curry anymore, but everything is so good that you just don't care.

He pulls away suddenly, gasping and trembling the sense of loss is so acute that you feel cold with it.

"What?" you ask, sitting up, "what's wrong?"

"I…" he takes a minute to catch his breath, and you think for one horrible, stupid moment that he's finally freaking out, that he's done with you.

"Just one second," he says and hops off the bed, wobbling slightly as he disappears into the hallway. You sit on his bed and feel patently ridiculous, hard-on wilting slightly in the cold air. The relief you feel when he comes back is immense, and you decide not to examine that feeling too much, focusing instead on the tupperware in John's hands. Your jaw drops.

"Is that…?"

John grins, and it's that same shit-eating grin he had in the restaurant, the one that tells you that, yet again, he's going to take advantage of your inexplicable lust over mildly spicy Indian food.

"It is your birthday after all. It doesn't seem right to avoid your favorite things on your birthday."

You can't decide if you want to punch or kiss that stupid grin off his face.

In the end, you don't do either. You just watch, mesmerized, as John takes off the lid. It's still steaming slightly and the smell actually makes your eyes roll back into your skull.

When you regain your senses, you find John's finger offered to you, coated in korma sauce. He's flushed; the smug look on his face is completely gone, and you lean forward to take his finger into your mouth, moaning throatily at the taste. You hear John sharp gasp and he leans forward, needing something to balance on but lacking a free hand. You do him a favor, resting your own hands on his hips as your tongue brushes over the pad of his fingertip. He's breathing so heavily now, and you wonder how he can have any blood left in the rest of his body, he's so hard.

Suddenly, it's all too much, you can't take any more distance and you yank him down onto the bed. You pull him flush on top of you, kissing him fiercely and his hand has ended up in the curry, but that's fine, perfect even, especially as the thumb of that hand is rubbing circles on your hipbone. He grinds down against you and fuck, you're sensitive you've barely been touched since this whole thing began, and it feels amazing. You grope around on the bed, hand eventually sinking into the curry at your side and you moan wantonly, too far gone to even be embarrassed. The slide of your hand up John's neck as you cup his cheek is unbelievably satisfying, and the sound he makes when turns his head to suck on your fingers even more so.

John seems devoted to covering you in the stuff, using its presence as an excuse to clean it off; slow, languid licks punctuated by small nips across your skin, making your muscles shift and jump. You bury your clean hand in his hair as he works his way down your torso, scraping his teeth across your pelvic bone before licking a stripe up your neglected cock. The noise you make is obscene.

You expect him to take it slow; he's been determined to slow everything else down so it takes you completely by surprise when he just completely engulfs you and all you're aware of is hot and wet and _good_. The hand that's in his hair scratches across his scalp and the moan that vibrates around your cock nearly makes you lose it.

Nearly.

You pull him off you, breathing fast and ragged and drag him up to kiss you, sloppy, an odd mix of pre-come and korma. His body slides up against yours, facilitated by the korma and everything is just _perfection _and you don't care how gay it is, you wrap your legs around his hips anyway and he thrusts and fuck fuck fuck _fuck John_-

You come to with John slumped against your chest and panting. Your grip on his shoulders is still iron tight, but you need to hold onto him right now, otherwise you feel like you might just float away.

John shifts on top of you, presses a kiss to your chest and rolls onto his side, breathing finally slowing.

"If you tell me that all that bullshit at the curry house was just to get a piece of this fine Strider ass, I'm going to punch you," you breathe, struggling to find any real bite or, really, any fucks to give at all. John huffs a laugh, eyes still closed.

"Don't worry dude, it wasn't just about getting you into bed."

You punch him half-heartedly on the shoulder, for good measure. John manages, somehow, to find the energy to heave himself off the bed. You don't know where he's going and you don't particularly care, eyes slipping closed as he slips into the bathroom.

You only realize that you've dozed off when you open your eyes again and John is already back with a towel, cleaning you off with a tenderness that makes your heart hurt. Your reluctance to move makes it hard to get you under the blankets, but he manages it and crawls in next to you, curling against your side.

(It's not cuddling, Striders don't cuddle. John is just sort of… leaning on you a bit. And you're just checking that he hasn't got korma in his hair, like any good bro would do for his friend.)

"Dave, we are cuddling and you are going to have to deal with that," John mumbles against your neck, somehow sensing your cuddly inner turmoil, and you try to protest, but he just shushes you and wraps an arm around your waist, holding you closer. A bubble of _something_ swells in your chest and you're filled with the completely unreasonable urge to hug John closer, like it would even be possible for you to get any closer than you are right now. Sleep makes you fuzzy, and you kind of forget what emotions you're meant to be feeling until John murmurs a drowsy 'happy birthday' into your collarbone. He says something else, and you're both so gone that it's hard to make out, but you think you get the general idea.

You're pretty sure you love him too.

* * *

><p>oh, I also wrote this for National Curry Week<p>

* * *

><p>John opened the door to his house and was immediately hit by a sense of foreboding. A sense of foreboding that smelled distinctly like curry.<p>

He stormed through to the kitchen and slammed the door open to find Dave, shades off and hunched over a bowl of chicken korma, wearing the guiltiest expression known to man. John burst into tears.

"I knew it!" John sobbed, fat tears pouring from his glimmering, sapphire so fucking sky blue, blue eyes, "you love the korma more than you love me!"

Dave froze for a split second and then, though it was a great wrench to his vascular system, put down the curry and bounded over to John.

"Egbert, baby," he said, shades suddenly and inexplicably returned to his face, "that's not true baby, because baby…"

Here he took John in his arms in what was surely most romantic move of all time and whipped his shades off again like he was Horatio Caine.

"…You're my forever girl."

__

* * *

><p>okay I'm done, thanks for sticking with me good night<p> 


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